


journeys end in lovers' meeting

by tosca1390



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Solitary moments in snow; it sounds conducive to rest, to a time of rejuvenation before her research resumes.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	journeys end in lovers' meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Okay.
> 
> This is very clearly an AU based off of the movie _The Holiday_. There are some portions you will find very familiar, if you have seen the movie. For the most part though, I charted my own course. But I don't own anything?
> 
> I have definitely doubled the amount of sexy times in the Jane x Thor tag through this one fic though. 
> 
> For Ari, my ever-beloved Ari.

*

Over the last few years – since Donald, really – Jane has had some really dumb ideas.

She’s had some great ones, obviously – you don’t get an award and two grants from the National Science Foundation for being an idiot, for the most part – but in her personal life, she’s been dumb. She dated Donald; she let him move in, and then it all went to shit. There were warning signs, now that she thinks about it; but it was easy and simple, and she didn’t want to think that maybe it wasn’t supposed to be _that_ easy, _that_ simple. 

Donald moves out a week before Christmas. Their last fight was quiet and sharp and final. She watches him and his friends load up the moving van from the wide bay window of her first-floor office, and feels nothing. He tells her that she never gets angry enough, invested enough; she wonders if it’s true. For so long, all she’s had is her work, in some way shape or form; it is the investment that she truly cares for. 

She is done with investment in anything else, she thinks as the van drives away. The walls of the small house with its wide windows press in on her. She tastes the sun on her tongue, and longs for frost. Darcy sends her the link for a house holiday exchange, and she takes the plunge, signing up to switch houses with a young woman near her age named Peggy (after a serious background check on both sides, of course). Solitary moments in snow; it sounds conducive to rest, to a time of rejuvenation before her research resumes. 

Then, she’s actually _there_ , and it’s quite different from her imagination. 

*

“No.”

Jane wrinkles her nose in the direction of her phone. It lays on the neatly made bed, glowing in the dim bedroom. Darcy’s face contorted into a fantastic impression of their boss, Tony Stark (eyebrows and all), stares up at her. 

“Stop it!”

“I’m not doing anything,” Jane mutters, hands stilling on her freshly-unpacked sweaters. 

“You’re repacking. You can’t repack. You can’t come back! Not for another two weeks,” Darcy screeches through the phone. “Even Stark said so.”

“This was a bad idea, Darce,” Jane says, listening to the wind creak along the old wooden eaves of the cottage. She can hear the dog – a white and gray English sheepdog nearly as big as her, the fluffiest thing she’s ever seen – padding around in the downstairs, searching for his true mistress. Who is by now in Jane’s nice cottage in California, in the sunshine and near the community pool. 

Jane never had time to use the pool, but she’s sure this stranger she’s let into her home and life will. 

The effect of Darcy’s exasperated sigh is not lessened by the entire continent of North America and the Atlantic Ocean. Jane winces, even as she folds her sweaters and t-shirts back up into the suitcase. “This was not a bad idea. It was a great idea. It’s England!”

“It’s snowing,” Jane counters, glowering at the windows. Snow falls steadily against the glass panes, soft and white, collecting all the light in the darkness of the growing night. The cottage is cool, and for all her wits and knowledge, she can’t figure out how to make the coffeemaker _work_ , and the stove-warmed pipes are a mystery. She feels like she’s stuck in a Jane Austen novel, and Brit Lit was never a strong subject for her. Formulas and tangible answers, that’s what she likes. 

“You wanted snow!”

“Well, now I’m cold,” Jane says with a sigh. Her fingers sink into the wool of her kelly-green sweater. 

“It’s the country, and it’s far away from work. Just try and relax. Read a book! Listen to music! Give it a chance,” Darcy pleads, voice crackling. 

Jane leans on her open suitcase, humming. Her smooth fleece pajamas curl up at her toes. The cottage is cozy, when she lets herself relax for a moment and breathe. But Jane isn’t used to stillness and quiet; she is used to pressing forward and always driving onwards, with science clutched in her fists and proof on her tongue. 

“I’m trying,” she says at last. “I’m not good at it, though.”

Darcy chuckles through the tinny connection. “Well, I’m not good at statistics, but you hired me anyway.”

Smiling slightly, Jane pulls her suitcase off of the bed and sets it on the floor. The sleeves of her sweatshirt are too long for her arms; she curls her fingertips in the hanging cuffs. “True.”

“You need to stick it out. You need a break from California,” Darcy wheedles. 

“Have you met the woman yet? Peggy?” Jane asks. 

Darcy grunts. The sound of crunching, like chips between teeth, comes through the line. Jane rolls her eyes. “Not yet. I was going to wait until tomorrow and the lack of jetlag before I popped over to meet my new bestie.”

“Ouch.”

The dog, all fur and dark eyes and a pink tongue poking out of his mouth, appears in the doorway. Jane smiles hesitantly, wiggling her fingers at him. Tail wagging, he pads over to her and sits at her feet. His fur is warm and soft on her toes. “She has a dog,” Jane says with a smile, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. 

“Oh, see! Forget dudes, let’s get you a dog.”

“That I won’t have time to take care of any more than a boyfriend,” Jane counters dryly. 

Darcy sniffs. “I’m _trying_ here, Jane.”

Jane takes Darcy off of speaker and tucks her phone in the crook of her shoulder and neck, sliding off of the bed to sit with the dog on the floor. Her fingers sink into his fur; she feels a deep rumble in his chest as he nuzzles closer. “I know. So am I.”

Darcy sighs, and sounds much sadder this close to her ear than she did before. “Look, Fandral and I are just worried.”

“I don’t need you and your latest boytoy to worry.”

“Stop calling him that! It’s serious!” Darcy retorts. “And yes. You need someone to worry about you. You don’t do it for yourself, or you’d get yourself some new clothes.”

“I like my flannel and my sweaters, thank you very much,” she counters. 

“I know,” Darcy says soothingly. “Maybe, maybe just go into the tiny quaint village I’m sure is nearby, and buy a lot of wine? Maybe some cookies? Cheese and crackers? You like –“

“Fine, _fine_ ,” Jane cuts her off, shaking her head. The dog lifts his gaze to hers, and she shrugs. 

“Lots of wine!” Darcy yells before Jane hangs up. She reaches up and puts the phone on the bed, but continues to sit on the floor of the strange bedroom she now inhabits, her back against the frame, and her hands deep in the fur of a stranger’s dog. Staring into space for a moment, Jane wets her lips and sighs. 

“Okay,” she murmurs, patting the dog’s sides gently. “Wine.”

Frost curls at the edges of the windows, and perhaps at her heart. She can’t quite find herself here. 

 

*

Hours later, in the heavy darkness of an English winter night, Jane still hasn’t fallen asleep, mind busy with thoughts of Donald, of equations and patterns in the research she’s left behind, when the dog at the foot of her bed, keeping her toes quite warm, abruptly sits up. Then, there is a knock at the door – well, _knock_ is kind; it’s rather like a pounding. 

Pulling her CalTech sweatshirt tighter around her, Jane slips out of bed, wincing at the cold wooden floors. Barefoot and cautious, she inches her way downstairs, the dog following close behind at her heels. All the while, as she flicks on lights and reaches for a relatively heavy book, just in case, she listens to the broad, heavily-accented voice through the door. 

“C’mon, Peggy, open on up. I’m about to burst right here on the step!”

Wrinkling her nose, Jane throws the front door open. “Please don’t,” she says, the Oxford English Dictionary A through Be heavy between her palms. 

A broad giant of a man turns, and stares, mouth agape. Dark blonde hair falls at his jawline, escaping a knot at the back of his head. There is the lingering of stubble at his jaw and cheeks, eyes bright blue and sharp despite the alcohol in his system – at least she assumes alcohol, judging by the sheen of his skin, the curl of his mouth. He engulfs the doorframe, but she is unafraid. 

From behind her, the dog yelps and noses past her knees to say hello to their guest. She remains in the doorway, suddenly very aware of the mess that is her hair, her makeup-less face, her fleece pajama oh God. 

“Hello,” the man says at last, a smile breaking out on his face. She shivers. 

“Er – hi,” she says. 

“Is – is Peggy here? I’m certain I’ve got the right cottage, you know,” he says as he crouches to pet the dog, scratching behind its ears. “This is the right dog.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, clutching the dictionary to her chest. “Well, yes – we’ve traded houses for the holiday, and –“

He makes a sound of recognition, straightening once more. His hand rubs at the nape of his neck. Snow catches in the dark of his peacoat, the curl of his blond hair at the collar, the scruff of his beard. “Yes, of course! She told me, I’m just – well, I’m a little out of my head, I suppose,” he says wryly. 

Jane’s teeth sink into her bottom lip, as her fingers curl over the spine of the thick tome. His gaze fixes on her, deepening and darkening; she feels a low heat unfurling in her belly, and it’s been so _long_ since a man has looked at her like so – since she’s looked at a man and felt anything like this. She can hardly feel the cold, the breeze at her ankles. Snow melts on her cheeks and catches in her hair, and she doesn’t care. It feels illogical and foolhardy, but it’s late and the country isn’t hers, and she wants the recklessness for once. 

“I didn’t mean to barge in,” he says at last. “I – well, Peggy is my cousin. She lives closer to the village than I, and usually, on nights like tonight, she lets me –“

“Oh god,” Jane exclaims, blushing. “Of course! Please, come in.”

She steps back; the dog follows, and sits at her feet, waiting. The man, with shoulders almost as broad as the doorway, watches her for a moment before he smiles, small and soft, and walks inside. “Thank you, Miss – “

“Just Jane. Jane Foster,” she murmurs, shutting and latching the door behind him. 

He peels off his peacoat, reveling the sharply-fitted button-down and blazer, in a dark navy that touches on his eyes. He takes up nearly the entire front foyer. “Thank you, Just Jane Foster,” he says mirthfully. “Thor Odinson gives his thanks, and asks to use the loo, if that would be all right.”

She nods, and there he goes down the hall. Her hands abandon the dictionary to the couch and she skids over to the wall-mounted mirror near the hearth, running shaking fingers through her hair. Her sweatshirt is baggy at her chest and she curses under her breath, touching the dark circles under her eyes. 

“Of course, of course,” she mutters to the dog.

The dog, all fur and black eyes, tilts his head and barks from his sitting position at her feet. She sighs, wondering if Thor knows the dog’s name. 

“Did you see a ring?” she asks the dog, listening for the sounds of Thor in the restroom. 

Barking twice, the dog settles down with its paws stretched out in front of him. Jane smiles slightly, and steps away from the mirror just as a door opens down the hall. Thor reappears, hair loose from its knot; he runs his hands through it, and grins a little. 

“I’m afraid I’ve ruined your quiet holiday,” he says as he stands near the bottom of the twisting staircase. He makes no move for the front door; she finds this promising, logically. 

“No, no, really, it’s okay – I don’t do well with quiet. Or, well, relaxing, I guess,” she says, feeling distinctly awkward. Her toes curl against the cool floorboards. 

He laughs, and the whole room seems to warm to it. There’s something rich and full to his presence; she feels drawn to him, as if a sun. “Why is that?”

She shrugs, and sits on the armrest. The lingering remnants of her white wine from earlier tingle in her fingertips. “I work. A lot.”

“Oh?” He comes nearer, sitting himself on the coffee table opposite her. Again, he makes no move to leave, his gaze intent on her. Her hands long to curl in his hair, pull him towards her and – “What do you do, if you don’t mind me inquiring?”

Biting the inside of her lip, she shifts uncomfortably. “Well – I’m a scientist,” she murmurs. It’s too late at night to go into detail; besides, she’d rather not bore him right off the bat. 

His eyes light up. “That’s interesting. I was absolute rubbish at science. And math, really.”

“What was left for you, then?” she teases. 

He grins and she feels her heart skip a beat. Her skin flushes; she’s sure he can see it even in the dim light. “Literature.”

“So you read for a living?” she says, suspicious. 

Laughing, he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His laugh is low, full; she likes the sound of it. “Is this an inquisition?”

“You began it,” she returns quickly. 

“So I did,” he says with a slight smile. “I apologize.”

Ducking her head for a moment, she takes a deep breath. It’s strange, feeling so entirely flustered. Perhaps it’s the hour, the new country, the need to prove to herself that she cares for something other than work – but she’s strangely drawn to this man. He engulfs the room with the breadth of his shoulders and his smile, and she can’t stop from imagining the curve of his mouth against hers, the feel of his skin on her fingertips. 

Clearly she needs more human interaction, she thinks with a blush. 

“Suddenly you are very quiet,” he says after a moment. “Perhaps – yes, I have intruded too long – “

“No!” she blurts out, getting to her feet and looking at him. “I mean – you don’t have to go.”

Thor’s gaze softens, darkens as she meets his eyes. Wetting her lips, she crosses her arms in front of herself. “It’s cold out,” she says weakly. “And if you’d like to stay, I’m sure you won’t strangle me in the middle of the night. Statistically, it’s unlikely.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “You are an odd, interesting woman,” he says, rising as well. He towers over her, a whole shoulders and head above. “That is very kind, Jane. Thank you.”

“I’m trying to loosen up, I guess,” she murmurs, shrugging. 

“Do you need help with that?” he asks, face flushed. 

Her mouth goes dry, palms sweaty. “Apparently. That’s what everyone tells me, anyway.”

Shrugging, he rubs a palm across the nape of his neck. Blonde hair falls across his throat and jaw. “I don’t know about everyone else, but if it’s so, that’s too bad. A lovely woman such as yourself should enjoy herself when she can.”

Swallowing, she tips her head back. “That’s why I’m here, I guess.”

His eyes are very dark now, set on her in a way that warms her right through to the bone. “There’s fun to be had in the village.”

“Perhaps I’ll relearn how to appreciate it,” she says, smiling slightly. 

“As long as you’re willing, I’d be happy to guide you through,” he says, a little too casually, a hint of more in his eye, she thinks. She can’t be sure; her track record with romantic entanglements is something even a child would laugh at. 

“Yes,” she says, keeping his gaze. “Quite so.”

The smile on his lips widens. He takes her hand in his and brings it to his mouth. “Well, Jane Foster. I believe you should go out with me tomorrow night, in celebration of what I’m sure is a well-earned holiday,” he says, lips at her knuckles. 

_This is crazy_ cycles through her head repeatedly, even as _yes yes yes_ does at the same time (in Darcy’s voice). Jane exhales slowly as she curls her fingers around his. She opens her mouth, and – 

“I just broke up with someone,” she blurts out, bright red. 

Thor keeps a hold of her hand, watching her with no little amusement. She presses on, flushing brightly. “Or, well, he broke up with me, because apparently I’m cold, or something – obsessed with work? Well, it doesn’t really matter because it just happened like a week ago, and – I just –“

It’s then that he cups her face in his hands and brings her into the circle of his arms. She quiets immediately, eyes wide. Her hands settle at his chest, fingertips scratching against the wool of his sweater. 

“Could I kiss you, Jane?” he asks softly. 

“Why?” she asks abruptly, curling her fingers into the collar of his sweater. 

He smiles, his face very close to hers. “Because I’d like to. But if you don’t want me to –“

“I didn’t say that,” she breathes, suddenly nervous. 

His grin broadens, a boyish youth lighting his face. “Good,” he says before he leans in and kisses her. 

Immediately, she curls her arms around his neck and pulls herself closer to him, resting her weight on his broad chest. Her eyes fall shut and she sighs against his mouth. It’s irrational and illogical, but there is a certain sort of rightness to the touch of his mouth on hers. His hands are so large, encompassing and cradling her scalp. She parts her lips and slides her tongue against his bottom lip, breathing his name softly in the exhale. Her hands rise, fingers finding his hair. It’s all sensory and sharp, her blood thudding against her skin. 

“Okay, okay,” she breathes against his lips, even as he gathers her against her and lifts her off the floor – holy _shit_ he’s a giant a strong tall giant – “You’re not married, right?”

He shakes his head, his mouth very close to hers. “No. Definitely not.”

“I’m going to take your word for it, buddy,” she says sharply before kissing him again. It’s a scramble of limbs until she’s anchored with her thighs at either side of his hips, his hands hitched under her at the crease of her thighs. He’s supporting all of her weight and she wants to cry at how good it feels to have someone envelope her, surround her. His mouth is open and warm on hers; she tips her head back and skims her fingers through his hair, letting him carry her through the living room and up the stairs. 

Hopefully, she thinks, the dog stays put. 

It’s been so long since – well, anyone. She and Donald did very little in terms of sex near the end, and before him, there was science, and work, and school, with men interspersed sparingly. So she’s almost forgetful as to how it can feel, how it can progress. He kisses her for so long, until her lips are tender to the touch and she can’t see for anything, stretched out on the bed together. Her hands make quick work of his sweater, the starchy button-down shirt underneath; he is all cut lines and springy chest hair. _What kind of literature student looks like this?_ she thinks absently. She runs her hands over the broad expanse of his shoulders, his back, as he kisses down the line of her throat, his hands pushing at her sweatshirt. 

“I’m really not like this,” she says breathlessly, her fingertips catching on a scar at his collarbone. 

He grins, blinking in and out of focus as he pulls the sweatshirt over her head. Her hair falls loose and mussed around her shoulders, a dark messy cloud. “Isn’t that rather the point?” he teases, fingering the hem of her thin ratty t-shirt. 

She raises her arms and pulls the shirt off herself, shaking out her hair. “I guess. I don’t know. Like I said, I – “

He leans in and kisses her, soft and sweet and too gentle by half. On instinct it seems, she melts into him, pulls him on top of her as she shifts back onto the bed. Warmth unfurls in her lower belly; her thighs shift together and then part for his. 

“Perhaps just let someone else do the work for you right now, Jane,” he murmurs against her lips. His hands cup and soften over her breasts as he works his mouth along her jaw, her throat. 

She closes her eyes on a moan and shifts restlessly against the hard line of his body, her hands dragging and sliding over his shoulders, his spine, the nape of his neck. It’s an exercise in sensory saturation; she catalogues the physiological reactions, the pitch of her moans, the sharpness of her inhale, the dig of her fingers into the hard muscle of his back. He murmurs her name at the curve of her belly and she sighs with it, wet and warm and ready for his touch. 

Thor pulls the pajama bottoms from her hips with a laugh, his broad hands warm as they skim up her calves and knees; he seems to gather all the light in the dim room, his hair shot through with gold. His mouth is wet at her knee, the curve of her thigh; she trembles as he kisses her hip, touches her through the soft cotton underwear. 

Her hands slide and grip into his hair, and she gasps with his mouth, open and wet over her. Her underwear is pulled aside and it’s just him, the curve of his mouth against her clit, his fingers crooked inside her, damp and easy. He hums and she swallows a hard moan, the sweat beading at her brow, the curve of her throat. Her heel presses against his ribs as he slides his tongue over her. His name escapes her mouth in a low thick moan, her back bowing into the mattress. 

Soon she is a quaking mess, as he kisses his way up the line of her body, his mouth warm. Her hands shift from his hair to slide down his spine and over his hips, finding the button of his jeans and popping them open one by one. He smoothes the hair back from her face and she meets his gaze; his lips are slick in the dim light and it sends a shudder right through her. Her hands slide into his jeans to touch him, hard and straining against his boxers. 

“You’re beautiful, Jane,” he murmurs through a groan, kissing her. She tastes herself on his tongue and it soars within her, the freedom, the feeling. Her fingers wrap a loose cuff around his length and stroke evenly, instinct overcoming her nerves. 

There is the awkward moment of him reaching for a condom – but it is all so easy and sweet and exciting for the majority. She stretches her hands up to the headboard as he slides into her, thick and hot and wet, and he is there, their fingers intertwining. His gaze catches hers over and over and she can’t look away, even with the blush suffusing her cheeks and the intensity of his eyes. She doesn’t want to look away. 

Later, she lays curled up on his chest. Snow still falls outside, noticeable in the thin lamplight as it stretches through the windowpanes. His hands slide up and down her spine, catching and tangling in her hair. 

“Thor?” she asks sleepily, eyes heavy.

He hums, a low rumble she feels in his chest. “Yes, Jane?”

“What’s the dog’s name?”

At her question, he laughs and tucks her closer to him. “Chester.”

As if on cue, she hears the pad and click of the dog’s paws on the stairs. She tucks the blankets and sheets around them as Chester trots in, and settles on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Smart dog,” she mumbles, tucking her face into the crook of Thor’s neck. 

“Indeed,” he murmurs, his mouth soft at the crown of her hair. 

Jane falls asleep with ease, warm and content. It’s the easiest she’s slept in what feels like years. 

*

When she awakens, the world is freshly snow-blanketed, the sun gleaming through the windows. The bed is empty, the dog is missing, and her phone is buzzing on the bedside table next to her. 

Jane sits up and stretches, the sheets tucked around her chest. She rubs the sleep from her eyes, blinking against the snow-white light filtering in through the windows. It’s an odd feeling to be rested, to ache in pleasant ways. Her fingers touch her throat, where she is sure he left marks. His side of the bed is still warm when she rolls back into the blankets, sighing. 

Her phone buzzes once more. She slaps a hand over it and pulls it to her, squinting. Four texts from Darcy. Here in England, it is only eight in the morning – she can safely assume Darcy is either drunk, post-coital, or both. Shaking her head, Jane types in her passcode and opens up her messages. 

_HOPE YOU GOT SLOSHED!!!! :D_

_OR SLEPT MAYBE?_

_REST IS WEIRD FOR YOU, I KNOW._

_FANDRAL SAYS HEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYY._

Grinning, Jane sets the phone aside and stretches her arms above her head, fingertips pressing against the headboard. The knot in her lower back relaxes just for a moment. She can hear a clatter downstairs, the padding of the dog around the small kitchen. This is the most at home she’s felt in a very long time, in a house that isn’t hers, with a man she barely knows downstairs. It’s a peculiar turn of events, for sure. 

Soon, she pulls on her discarded pajama bottoms and his button-down shirt from the night before, buttoning it as she descends the stairs. The floorboards creak under her toes. She lingers in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her guest carefully. 

Thor stands with his phone to his ear, his back to her as he stares out the small window over the sink. A large mug of coffee in his fist, plain white t-shirt hitched up at the belt of his jeans, he is the picture of everything she’s never wanted or wished for, and it’s disarming. The cutting jut of his hipbone peeks out from between the seam of his jeans and his shirt. Her fingers itch to comb through his hair, tied neatly at the nape of his neck once more. She remembers the feel of his hands on her skin, his mouth between her thighs – 

Chester, sitting patiently at Thor’s feet, perks up as she walks in. He barks once and trots over to her, shaggy and fluffy and all kinds of endearing. Thor turns, his face crunched in a sort of apology as he nods into the phone. She kneels to rub Chester’s neck and sides, looking up from under her lashes. 

“I know. We’ll be back home tomorrow. Seven? Good. Pass on my love,” he says into the phone before a brief goodbye. He slips his cell into his pocket and exhales loudly. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” she says, cheeks coloring faintly. 

An awkward silence settles between them, punctuated by the slow wind against the eaves of the house, the bubble of the coffee percolator. Her fingers dig into Chester’s fur; all she wants to do is touch him, put her mouth to his once more. 

“I made coffee,” he says at last, gaze soft. “How would you feel about breakfast?”

Smiling, Jane rises and pushes her hair behind her ears. “I love breakfast. I will warn you, I didn’t buy anything of cooking value when I went shopping yesterday.”

Laughing, Thor moves to the counter and opens a cupboard. He pulls down a large mug for her and pours nearly to the brim. “While I’m certain I could whip something up with the crackers and wine provided, I thought perhaps you’d like to see the area. My car is in the village; we could go exploring?”

She sits at the small kitchen table with the offered mug of coffee, biting her lip. “I don’t want you to feel obligated,” she says after a moment. “I’m an adult, we both are – it was a good night –“

“A great night,” he says intently, his gaze fixed on her mouth as she sips her coffee. 

“Yes,” she amends, blushing. “I understand if you have obligations elsewhere. You barely know me, and – “

“Perhaps I would like to,” he says, sitting across from her, relaxed even as he dwarfs the chair, the kitchen as a whole. “You are a curious, clever, lovely woman. I’d like to know you better.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, sipping her coffee to cover her surprise. “Well – then yes. Breakfast.”

“And the tour?” he says, all enjoyment and pleasure. 

She smiles, especially when he leans into put his hand on her knee. “Yes. It sounds wonderful.”

This is the leap; she sails forward, with a bravery she usually saves for her science. 

*

Over a good English breakfast of scrambled eggs, rashers, and scones, Jane and Thor trade life stories. 

“My father wanted me to go into the Army, as he did; I served for five years, and then left to pursue other paths,” he says between mouthfuls, his childhood in Lincolnshire and schooling at Eton already behind them. 

The little restaurant bustles around them, married couples with children and a group of older ladies in matching fur stoles making up the rest of the crowd. Aging waitresses drop by with fresh refills of coffee and tea, and the basket of scones is never empty. Jane looks out onto the snowy streets of this small hamlet, supremely content for the first time in months – maybe years. 

“How did the military lead to literature?” she asks, nose crinkling. The coffee cup is warm and delicate in her palms, bone white china dotted with blue flowers. At least the physique is explained, she thinks. 

Thor leans back in his chair, grinning wryly. “Publishing, actually. I work as an editor and a translator. My career in the Army led me to become fluent in Arabic and French.”

She blinks, chewing on a piece of raspberry scone, sweet and tart on her tongue. “That’s quite random.”

“It was my brother’s suggestion, actually. And I always enjoyed the work whilst in the Army; it’s just as enjoyable with literature,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, the career advancement is spectacular. I’ll be head of the department in less than a year.”

“Wow.” Jane smiles. “It sounds like you are quite content.”

Something in his eyes shifts, dims; but before she can mark it fully, he is smiling brightly. “For the most part, yes. And you?”

“There isn’t a lot to say,” she says, shrugging. 

Thor guffaws, the sound low in his chest. “Jane, anyone who meets you knows there is much more than meets the eye. Please. I revealed much just now!”

Sighing, she sets her coffee cup down. “All right. I grew up in California, near Berkley. My mom died when I was little, in a car accident. Dad was paralyzed from the accident, and he died a few years ago. He was a scientist – “

“What kind?” he asks, gaze intent and serious on her. 

She falters for just a moment, playing with the cuff of her sweater. “Astrophysicist – just like me.”

Now, his gaze widens in surprise. “An astrophysicist? That’s fascinating.” 

“Is it really?” she asks, brow furrowing. “I mean, usually the only other people who care are scientists, and we can be kind of boring, I’ll give that to archetypes – “

He reaches over and covers her hands with his on the tabletop. “I know nothing of the stars. Perhaps you can teach me?” he asks with a slow smile. 

For a moment she can only blush, silenced by his forwardness, his affection. He draws his thumbs over her knuckles, gaze fixed on hers. “You are not boring in the least. I am continually impressed by you.”

“Ditto,” she says after a moment, because it’s all she can pull out of her addled brain. “I mean –“

“I know,” he says with a laugh. “I am hardly as impressive as you are, though.”

“Arabic and French? Plus the army? I think you’ve got me beat,” she retorts lightly. 

He shakes his head. His hair is loose today, edging his jaw and falling across his brow in such a way that she longs to push it back. “Clearly, you are well-educated and beautiful to boot. There is no contest.”

Flushing, she wrinkles her brow. “Well, anyway. I graduated high school early, went to CalTech and then MIT for doctoral work. My research is on wormholes and the time-space continuum.”

“I have no idea what that means,” he says with a good-natured laugh. “You’ll have to explain it as if I were a five-year-old.”

“I don’t know if it’s possible,” she admits with a laugh.

His fingers slide between hers, intertwining. “I suppose as long as you know what you’re doing, that’s the important part.”

“I do,” she says with a smile, cheeks warm. 

Their waitress, her dark hair pulled back and shot through with silver, lays the check down as she refills their coffee. She looks between them and smiles a little too knowingly, which shakes Jane right to her core. 

“So, what next?” Thor asks as their waitress retreats. He palms the check. 

Jane reaches for her wallet. “What’s my share – “

His hand covers hers once more. “I appreciate it. But this is on me,” he says with a smile. 

She runs a hand through her hair and sighs, biting her lip. “I’m sure you had other plans for today,” she says after a moment, watching as he sets down bills and places them under the coffee cup nearest him. 

“Unless you’d like to be rid of me, I am at your disposal,” he says, eyes bright. “I like spending time with you, Jane.”

“You’ve known me for less than a day,” she blurts out, unsettled. The sun reflects off of the snow and the windows, right into the yellow-gold of his hair. 

Mouth growing serious, he reaches over and takes her hands in his once more. “It feels like longer to me.”

Her mouth falls open to protest, but what comes out is – “Me too,” she says, almost abashed. He’s put his finger on the strange familiarity that’s lingered between them from the start. If she believed in past lives and reincarnation, she’d use this kind of meeting as an example. 

The scientist in her rolls her eyes; but Jane doesn’t care today. 

Thor’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins. “Good,” he says softly. “So, tour of the countryside?”

She nods. They rise, put on their coats (he helps her with hers, of course), and walk out into the bitterly sharp winter day. Just days before Christmas, and snow and wreaths litter the town. Jane hasn’t had a Christmas like this in years. 

Thor tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow, and together they walk to his car, a slow stroll. 

*

How a tour around the countryside turned into parking on the side of the road and kissing over the middle console of his SUV, Jane isn’t sure. 

But her hands are unbuckling her seat belt and she’s shifting over the console to straddle him, their mouths knocking together, breath hot against her lips. He lays his seat back and has his hands on her hips in a moment, his callused fingers sliding under her coat, finding the strip of bare skin at the seam of her sweater and jeans. 

“This isn’t completely what I had in mind,” Thor breathes out, voice low. She feels the reverberation of each word against her lips. 

“There’s snow, there’s trees, and there are some old houses. Good tour,” she says with a little laugh. Her fingers slide through his hair, tugging it out of its knot, letting it loose against his neck, his jawline. 

He laughs then, a low rumble that echoes through the car. They are just yards away from the cottage, but there’s something so freeing, so lovely and young about being here in his car, her mouth on his like the teenager that she never felt like she could be. His hands slip under her sweater, fingers finding the groove of her spine with ease. She shivers, biting at his bottom lip. 

“I’m so glad you are taking the time to appreciate the rich heritage around you,” he teases, his fingers tracing the lines of her spine, the curve of her waist. 

“Priorities,” she murmurs, feeling a bit like Darcy in the moment. Her hands fall to his lap, fingers light at the buttons of his jeans. 

Humming, he tips his head back, giving her the expanse of his throat. She noses at the stubble at the line of his jaw and breathes in, the spicy woodsy leather smell of him against his skin. Her teeth slide gently along the corded muscles of his throat as her fingers flick open his belt buckle, the cool metal of his jeans buttons. 

“You’re embracing this holiday feeling, quite enthusiastically,” he says, voice a low growl near her ear. 

“For science,” she says with a grin, glancing up at him quickly before she turns her attention back to his jeans, his neck. She likes his neck, she decides. Her hands slide into the gaping fly of his jeans and he goes very quiet, a moan low and heavy in the back of his throat. His grip on her waist tightens. 

“If this is what all your experiments are like, I will be a part of them any time, any place,” he murmurs, his nails biting into the curve of her waist. 

She takes his hard length in hand, thumbing the wet tip. He shudders under her and she smiles, emboldened. “Believe me, they’re not quite this physical. More _metaphysical_ ,” she teases. 

He raises his hands to cup her face, bringing her mouth close to his. “You are quite the creature,” he says before kissing her, his tongue wet and warm at the seam of her lips. 

They are very quiet after that, apart from the low moans and the sharp inhales and exhales. She imagines, him hot and heavy in her palm, that there would be fog on the car windows, if that sort of thing was truly possible in the time allotted (thank you, movies, for creating unrealistic expectations for everyone). Thor drags his fingers through her hair and kisses her, kisses her as she shifts her jeans over her hips and presses close, guides him inside her. She’s never had sex in a car before; she likes it with him. Her name sounds too sweet on his lips when he comes. 

Later, sticky and damp, they take turns in the small shower of his cousin’s cottage. Jane sits with Chester in the living room, her hair drying by the warmth of the fire in the hearth. Her fingers twist in Chester’s scruff and she curls into the sofa, listening to the sound of him in the shower. 

“What am I doing, dude?” she asks Chester. 

He lifts his head up from her lap and whines softly before settling back down. Sighing, she tucks her chin into her chest, curled into her sweatshirt. “Okay,” she murmurs, just as she hears the water shut off, and footsteps from down the hall. 

In a few moments, Thor appears, clean and pink-skinned. He leans in the doorframe of the living room, arms crossed over his chest. “You look comfortable.”

“He’s very warm,” she says with a nervous smile, petting the dog in her lap. 

Thor smiles. “He’s a good dog. A real charmer.”

“Rather like you, I think,” she says, flushing warmly. 

His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he pushes off the doorframe, walking towards her. “I try, my lady,” he murmurs, resting his hands on the arm and back of the couch as he leans over her. She tips her head back instinctually and his mouth is there, waiting for hers. It’s utterly natural and it sends shudders of panic through her. 

_Who says that?_ She thinks even as her eyes fall shut and his lips part against hers. What am I doing? 

Chester lifts his head and licks at their chins, breaking the moment. She wipes at her face, laughing as Thor growls. “And here I was paying you a compliment, buddy,” he mutters, patting the dog’s neck. 

“He misses his owner, I’m sure,” she says, her toes curling inside her socks. 

“Attached at the hip, they are,” he says, straightening up. “But you’re very good company, Jane.”

She touches her fingers to her mouth, a panicky feeling settling in her stomach. He walks to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. “Dinner?” he asks, golden and broad and lovely in the firelight. 

Blinking, she smoothes her fingertips over her eyes. “Yes, okay,” she says softly. 

He grins and moves all the way into the kitchen. The sounds of pans clattering and the refrigerator opening and closing fill her ears. Jane squeezes her eyes shut, and begins to seriously panic. 

“Be right back,” she whispers to the dog, crawling off of the couch. Chester whines and then hops to his feet, padding into the kitchen to join Thor. Jane climbs up the stairs to her bedroom and grabs her phone, fingers shaking. 

“I have a problem,” she says as soon as Darcy answers the phone with a squeal. 

“Not even remotely, because Peggy is super sweet and a little bit of a firecracker, and Steve is in love with her, but okay. Shoot,” Darcy says with a sigh. 

Jane blinks, curling up in the window seat, staring out into the snowy night. “What?”

“Steve went over to check on your house – you forgot to tell him you were going away, and he’s a little miffed, by the by – and he and Peggy hit it off like gangbusters. He’s taking her out to dinner tomorrow night. It’s precious,” Darcy gushes. “He’s totally flummoxed by her, but she loves it.”

“That’s great, Darce,” Jane says tiredly. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell Steve.”

“It’s fine – what the hell is _wrong_ with you now?” Darcy grumbles. 

“I have a situation,” Jane hisses, tucking her knees under her sweatshirt, close to her chest. 

Darcy whistles. “It sounds like a man, but it can’t be.”

Jane is silent, flushing red in privacy. Darcy inhales very sharply, clear as day from across the Atlantic. “ _JANE_.”

“It’s Peggy’s cousin!” Jane whispers sharply. “He showed up at my doorstep last night, and – I don’t know, there was kissing, and – other stuff –“

“Jane!” Darcy squeals, loud enough for Jane to pull the phone away from her ear for a moment. “How _dare_ you not text me _immediately_!”

“Would you please stop it?” Jane demands crossly. 

“What happened after the sex – which, I want full details on at a later time, by the way - ?” 

Ducking her head, Jane rests her forehead against her knees. “He stayed the night, and we got breakfast, and we drove around the countryside and had sex in his car, and now he’s making me dinner and I don’t know how this happened!” she blurts out. 

“You had sex in a car? Vacation is doing you wonders,” Darcy muses. 

“Stop it, this is not helping!”

“What is there to stop? He’s cute, he’s normal, he’s there, he’s not Donald – just go with it,” Darcy says with a sigh. 

Jane exhales deeply. “I don’t want to get attached.”

“Do you think you are?”

Jane is very quiet, her breathing slow and even. Darcy whistles through the phone. “Shit, girl.”

“Jane?”

Looking up, Jane smiles instinctively at Thor, as he stands in the doorway to the bedroom. A scarlet-colored apron is tied at his waist. He has a wooden spoon in hand. “It’s ready,” he says softly. 

“Okay,” she says, biting the inside of her lip. 

He nods and leaves her be. She listens as he walks down the stairs, chatting to Chester once more. 

“Oh _girl_ ,” Darcy whistles. 

“I have to go,” Jane says, her chest tight with a strange combination of want and panic. 

“Call me tomorrow, if the sex doesn’t leave you winded.”

Jane rolls her eyes and hangs up without saying goodbye. She sets her phone down and rises from the cushioned window seat to head downstairs, a strange lightheadedness pervading her senses. 

*

She expects him to leave after dinner, but he doesn’t. They spend the whole time drinking wine, eating pasta and salad, and over the dirty dishes he tells her of adventures in publishing, and she tries to explain her work in simplest terms. He does his best to keep up, admirably; it isn’t for everyone. They laugh over scrubbing pots and eat chocolate biscuits right from the box in her bed. Chester sleeps at the doorway of her bedroom, a lump of fur and limbs and a black nose. 

Jane sits back against the headboard, Thor next to her. His hand rests on her thigh, an easy weight. 

“You know – you don’t have to stay,” she says after a moment. 

His fingers shift on her thigh. “You keep saying that. Are you trying to hint at something?” he says with a smile. 

She blushes. “I just- you must have things to do, a _life_ –“

“I do. But I like spending time with you, Jane. I like you,” he says, his other hand rising to her cheek. His palm fits against her face too well. 

“I – I won’t fall in love with you,” she blurts out. 

His eyes, too blue and too striking, crinkle as he smiles. “As you say. You are a clever woman,” he murmurs, leaning into kiss her. She leans into him, melts into him, can’t resist the natural inclination to shift into him. There is no science here; just the beat of their hearts in the quiet of the bedroom. 

“You are lovely,” he murmurs as he pushes away the empty biscuit tin, pulling her close. Jane shuts her eyes and lets her hands wander, throws her thigh over his hip and arches into him. There’s nothing but the touch of his mouth and his hands, the fall and turn of his hair over her fingers as she pulls it from its knot at the base of his neck. 

The night passes like so; she falls asleep in the circle of his arms, his mouth at her shoulder. In the morning, she wakes to him asleep next to her, and feels so entirely comfortable that she’s frightened to the core. 

Complications abound, she thinks. 

*

“You’re an idiot,” Darcy says through the phone. 

Jane frowns from her seat on the couch, staring moodily out into the bright afternoon. “My Ph.D. says something different.”

“About dudes.”

“He had to go,” Jane protests. It’s too sunny outside for her; the snow had been blinding all day, even through the windows. She and Chester are camped out in the living room, apart from a few walks outside. Now, with the late afternoon, the sky is orange-blue with the coming sunset, reflecting in the untouched snow that goes for acres. “Work, and his life – his real life, that I am not here to be a part of.”

“It sounds to me like you kicked him out because you’re a coward,” Darcy drawls. 

Jane’s mouth twitches, and she leans back into the couch, sighing. _I’m leaving in a week_ , she had said over toast and coffee. _It’s complicated if it goes any further_. And he had nodded and smiled, a little sadly, she thought; but he kissed her goodbye and left his cell phone number on the table for her. She watched him leave and felt like an idiot; now, Darcy’s making her feel like an even bigger one. 

“That’s possible,” she mumbles. “I just – I don’t want to deal with all this again.”

“From what you’re saying and what Peggy’s saying, he’s worth it, though,” Darcy says, words mumbled. 

“Are you eating?” she asks, a little grumpy. 

Darcy snorts. “It’s nine in the morning, of course I’m eating.”

“What do you mean, what Peggy’s saying?” Jane asks after a moment. 

She listens to Darcy swallow, and bites back a smile. “We went out with her for a drink last night. She was a little reserved, but very nice. So smart. Loves her cousin. He’s a keeper, and you’re an idiot.”

“You really need to stop telling me that. It’s going to hurt my feelings one of these days,” Jane says, rubbing her temples. 

Sighing, Darcy is quiet for a moment. “Listen. I just think – I think you should try and let something happen without planning it, for once in your life. You’re so – “

“Boring? Predictable? Obsessed with work?” Jane says dourly, eyes wandering over the collection of wine on the shelves. 

“Oh stop,” Darcy says sharply. “You need a break. This guy is nice and not a crazy person and apparently super cute, and he sounds great. So maybe just roll with it?”

Huffing, Jane stretches out on the couch. “So basically, you want me to be impulsive.”

“I think it wouldn’t kill you,” Darcy says enthusiastically. 

Her heart presses on her ribs, the tightness in her chest continuing. Jane sighs and shuts her eyes. “It might,” she murmurs, her fingers trembling. 

*

It’s two days later before she finally gets up the nerve to go to his house. 

She doesn’t even call first – it’s all Darcy’s fault, she’ll blame that girl to the grave. _Don’t call, just show up – he just showed up at your door! It’ll be great!_ Darcy says over and over, via text and email and phone calls. Jane ignores her as best as she can by taking the dog out for long walks over snowy hills, reading, and blasting 80’s pop music through Peggy’s excellent stereo set-up. It’s only when Peggy ends up on the phone with Darcy, first apologizing for her cousin and his shagging tendencies, and then extolling his virtues over and over, as Darcy hums in agreement in the background, that Jane stops answering the phone. She checks her email, does some editing of an article or two for publishing, and tries not to think about Thor. 

In the end, though, her strange impulsivity wins; she picks out the only nice dress she brought with her, a black sheath with three-quarter sleeves that Darcy lovingly calls her “nun-going-out” outfit, curls her hair a little, buys a bottle of wine, and takes the tiny car out of the garage. Peggy via Darcy generously provided her cousin’s address, and so now here she is, shivering in the chill of an English December night, outside a very nice house, brick and wide bay windows. It’s larger than she imagined, just for one; she rocks back and forth on her heels, holding her bottle of wine and feeling equal parts idiotic and anxious. 

“Just ring the damn bell,” she mutters three times before she finally does so. She looks at the car a few times, wondering if she can make it back there and drive away before he would come to the door. Just as she’s looking away the last time, she hears the door creak open, and she whips her head back around. 

“Oh,” she says, a little dumbly. 

A small girl in a red knit turtleneck and jeans peers up at her, bright blond hair braided back from her face in the French style. Blue eyes blink slowly, meeting Jane’s. “Hello,” she says quite somberly. 

Jane freezes. “Um. Hi there,” she says at last, brow furrowing. “I’m sorry. I must have the wrong house –“

“This is the Odinson residence,” the girl pipes up, still very serious around the eyes. 

_Okay then_. “Um. Good,” Jane stumbles out, her toes curling in her boots. “Not the wrong place, then.”

“Tori, who’s there?” another girlish voice calls from behind. 

_Oh god, he is married and he lied_ is the first thought to run through Jane’s head. 

The blonde girl – Tori? – looks Jane up and down. “Some lady!” she calls back. 

“Well, my name is Jane,” Jane murmurs, passing a hand through her hair. 

“JANE.” Tori calls. 

_Oh shit_. Jane flushes as she hears heavy footsteps from inside, and then – yes, yes, Thor appears in the crack of the front doorway, eyes wide. 

“Jane!” he exclaims, a smile brimming on his lips. 

“Yeah. Hi,” she says, glancing from the little girl to him and back again. 

He opens the door fully; there is another girl, dark-haired and smaller than the first, peeking out from behind his legs. “Please, please come in!”

Thus, Jane is ushered into the house by Thor and two children that apparently belong to him, or at least belong to the house. Thor takes her coat and the wine, while Jane and the two young girls stare at each other awkwardly.

_I’m going to kill Darcy_ , Jane thinks as she glances over the girls. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you,” she says as Thor hurries back in, loose and relaxed in trousers and a dark red sweater with a white snowman knit across the front. 

“No, no. I’m glad you’re here,” he says with a wide grin. “Jane – these are my daughters, Victoria and Astrid.”

The blonde one – Victoria, Jane amends mentally – drops into a curtsey which is actually adorable, while Astrid, the darker-haired smaller girl, just smiles shyly. Jane touches her fingers to her mouth for a moment before she collects herself, and nods. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Victoria says primly, linking her fingers in front of her. “You may call me Tori, if you’d like.”

“Okay then,” Jane says, looking up at Thor. “Um – “

“Tori, take your sister into the kitchen, and count out the marshmallows for the hot chocolate, will you?” Thor asks, leaning into ruffle both his daughters’ hair. 

Victoria wrinkles her nose but nods, and takes Astrid’s hand. They scurry off down the brightly-lit hall into what Jane assumes is the kitchen, as Thor takes Jane’s hand and leads her into the living room. There, by the tallest Christmas tree she’s seen in years, he finally has the grace to look sheepish. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, first and foremost. He keeps her hands between both of his. 

Jane shrugs. “I mean, it’s fine. I just – are you married? Because that was the _one_ thing I asked about, man, and –“

“I met my wife, Katrina, whilst at Eton. We married before I went away to Iraq with my army corps. She died four years ago, in childbirth with Astrid,” he says quietly, eyes dark. 

“Oh shit,” she mutters, slapping her forehead with her palm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh god.”

“It’s all right, Jane,” he says quietly. “I only – I tend not to tell people about it, unless they’re going to meet the girls.”

Jane gets it, she really does. She rarely speaks about her own parents to anyone. She inhales deeply, the scent of pine and hot chocolate sweetening the air. “And I was only here for two weeks, so…” she trails off. She _does_ get it; so why is she so bothered by being left out of this part of his life?

Thor’s mouth twists, his gaze narrowing. “I thought of telling you, but you seemed so skittish – “

“No, no, good call,” she murmurs, glancing down the hall. “Kids. Kids aren’t necessarily my thing.”

“They weren’t mine either, until I had my own,” he says softly. He is perfectly at ease here in a snowman sweater and cocoa powder on his hands, just as he was in her bed, in his car, his mouth on hers. 

She tips her head back to look at him fully, determined to be brave. She can hear Darcy yelling at her from all the way in California. “So. Any more surprises?”

“This is everything,” he says firmly. He reaches out to touch her cheek, tuck the loose waves of her hair behind her ear. “I’m glad – “ he stops, seemingly nervous. “I am glad you now know, Jane.”

All she wants to do is lean up and kiss him, that same odd familiar impulse to be close to him. She leans into the touch of his hand on her cheek, mouth curling upwards. “You could have told me,” she says quietly. 

“I know,” he says, touching her temple lightly. 

“DAD!” comes a high holler from down the hall. Jane winces, but Thor just chuckles and sighs. 

“On my way!” he calls back, his hand falling away from Jane’s hair. “Would – would you like to stay for a little while?”

“I don’t want to disturb,” she murmurs, biting her lip. 

Thor’s face falls, just the slightest; he can’t hide a thing from her, or from anyone, she imagines. “You wouldn’t be.”

Taking a deep breath, she reaches out and takes his hand in hers. “Okay. Yes.”

He grins, wide and bright. “Good.”

She follows him down the hall into the kitchen, where two young girls wait with marshmallows and serious smiles; the act of walking feels more like a leap than anything else she’s done all year. 

*

The hot chocolate is served; each of them gets six marshmallows, because Victoria likes even numbers. 

Three sips in, the inquisition begins. 

“Dad never has girls over,” Victoria says thoughtfully. “How does he know you?”

Jane chokes a little on the hot chocolate, hiding her frown behind her cup. Her eyes meet Thor’s over the rim of her mug. How old is this kid, seven? 

“She’s a friend of Aunt Peggy’s,” Thor says at last, Astrid balanced on his lap as they sit around the butcher block kitchen table. Jane feels out the dips and crevices of the wood with the tips of her fingers, holding her mug with one hand. 

“Aunt Peggy has friends?” Victoria queries. 

Wincing, Jane bites the inside of her lip. _Kids_.

As Thor shakes his head and tries, in his halting dad-way, to explain exactly what the situation is without explaining anything at all, Jane takes the time to watch the three of them together, a family unit. Astrid is comfortable and half-asleep on her father’s lap, his mouth and eyes in a round, cherubic face, dark hair curling at her shoulders. She’s young – too young for Jane to get a read on her. Victoria, however, is already protective, sharp, narrow-faced and a blonde just like her dad. Jane likes them, she thinks; she’s not one for kids, but she likes these girls, how they balance each other out. 

“Do Mr. Napkin Head,” Astrid murmurs, eyelids drooping. She pats Thor’s chest. 

Victoria’s eyes light up, her mouth turning up at the corners. “Oh, yes!”

Thor reddens, and _now_ Jane is intrigued. “Mr. Napkin Head?” she repeats. 

“It’s nothing at all,” he says hurriedly, even as Victoria throws a white paper napkin at his head, and Astrid claps her hands together. 

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Jane says with a little smile. 

“Dad, please,” Victoria draws out, elbows on the table. She rests her chin in her hands, dark eyes wide. 

Jane suppresses a grin, feeling the color rise on her skin. Thor sighs, gaze flickering between her and his children before picking up the napkin and placing it over his head. He plucks a pair of reading glasses from the table and slots them on over his eyes on top of the napkin. He looks ridiculous. And then, he opens his mouth. 

“Well, _hellooooo_ ,” he intones, voice high-pitched. “Helloooo, giiiiirls!”

His daughters giggle, and Jane sets her mug down to cover her mouth on a laugh. Thor turns his head much like a puppet from daughter to daughter, mouth opening and closing under the napkin. “Aren’t we looking lovely today, yes we are – oh – oh – is there someone _new_ here?” he exclaims, nodding in Jane’s direction. 

“Yes, yes!” Astrid claps gleefully. 

“She’s older than the both of you, yes – my my, almost as pretty as you two girls!”

“Prettier,” Victoria murmurs. 

“No way,” Jane says immediately, swallowing a giggle. “Definitely not prettier.”

Thor pulls the napkin off his head with the glasses. His hair is tousled, eyes bright and cheeks red. “Well, that was ridiculous,” he mutters. 

“And this is what you do for fun?” Jane teases. 

Victoria turns her serious gaze onto her. “What do you do for fun?” she asks, all seriousness. 

Oh. Swallowing hard, Jane tries not to look at Thor. “Well – I study stars,” she says, in the simplest of terms. 

Astrid perks up, eyes wide. “Stars!”

Jane blinks, wetting her lips. “Well – yes – “

“Can you show us?” Victoria asks, staring at Jane from across the table. 

Her first response is to say _just look out the window_ \- but Jane knows that isn’t right, not for kids. She glances at Thor quickly before straightening up and smiling. “Sure,” she says. 

The girls clap, and Thor laughs, rising from the table. It takes a few moments, but they all bundle up in scarves, coats and gloves, and toddle outside into the snowy front lawn, where Jane squints up into the night sky and wets her lips. 

“Okay,” she murmurs, Victoria’s hand tight in hers. “There’s the North Star – and there’s Cassiopeia - “

“How do you know?” Victoria asks, calf-deep in snow. 

Wrinkling her nose, Jane leans down and takes the girl by the waist. “Can I?” she asks, glancing at Thor. He is all smiles, and Victoria nods eagerly. Carefully, Jane lifts her up into her arms, leveraging the girl’s weight against her hip as they look up into the night sky.

_Holy shit, kids are heavy_ , she thinks. 

“I know because scientists much smarter and older than I said so,” she murmurs, raising her arm. Old stodgy white dudes aside. “See, you can see the upside-down crown there, for Cassiopeia.”

“Yeah,” Victoria breathes. 

“Pretty,” Astrid says, half-asleep in Thor’s arms. Her cheek is mushed against his shoulder, hair spilling over her slim shoulders. 

Thor’s free hand touches Jane’s elbow, warm even through her thick coast. Jane bites her lip and shifts her weight, her heels sinking into the snow. The air is crisp and cold against her cheeks, the uncovered line of her throat. 

“Yes. It Is pretty,” Jane says, tucking Victoria close to her shoulder. The girl curls an arm around her neck, her nose near the rise of Jane’s collarbone. A flush rises on her cheeks; she thinks no one will notice in the darkness. 

_Oh shit_ , she thinks as they remain out there for a few moments more. _Oh. Shit._

*

The girls ask if Jane will help tuck them in, but she waves them off, and Thor does too. They hug her knees in goodbye before scrambling up the stairs, calling for stories the whole way. Thor kisses her once, a hot bite of his mouth on hers, before he runs up after them. Jane ducks into the den, pours herself a whiskey from the sidebar table, and leans against the built-in bookshelves, fingers trembling. 

_This is bad_ , she thinks to herself, and texts to Darcy. Her head falls back against the edge of a shelf and she shuts her eyes. By the time he comes back downstairs and shuts the door behind him, she’s two whiskies in and flushed as all hell. 

“They loved you,” he says, running a hand through his hair. The snowman on his sweater stares at her; at least he’s owning it, she thinks. Not many men can pull it off. 

“Yeah,” she says slowly, rubbing her thumb along the lip of her glass. “They’re – they’re really great.”

He smiles slightly, approaching her. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Where were they? When you were with me?” she asks, sipping her whiskey. 

He tucks his hands into his trousers pockets, hair falling across his brow as he ducks his head for a moment. “My mother – their grandparents– take them one weekend out of the month. They like the country house, and she likes to spoil them. I don’t – I don’t just leave them at home and get drunk on whims, you know.”

“Of course – I wouldn’t think so,” she says, stricken. “I only wondered.”

Mouth turning downwards, he steps closer to her. She can smell his cologne, spicy-sweet. “I know. I’m still trying to balance it all, myself. Makeup and crushes on boys will happen soon, and there’s Mr. Napkin-Head – I am a full package that hardly anyone wants.”

She sets her glass down, planting her hands on her hips. Her father comes to mind, a man who had to be both father and mother, and perhaps didn’t understand how to be. Suddenly, she feels a kinship with the two little girls asleep upstairs. “So what now?”

“I suppose that’s up to you, Jane,” he says quietly, his hand falling to her hip. 

Biting her lip, she slumps against the shelves, feeling the ridges of the book spines edge into the cool sheath of her dress. “That’s not fair,” she murmurs. “You’re great, and your kids are great, and this house – this is – but – “

“You’re leaving,” he says, the sadness clear in his voice. 

“It’s not even that, though it is, too,” she says, her fingertips tingling with the whiskey. She feels light-headed, even more so with his hand on the curve of her waist, his thumb catching along her hipbone. “I just _met_ you, and I’m in a weird place – you live in England for god’s sake, and – “

He leans down and kisses her, lips warm and dry against hers. Eyes falling shut, she lifts her hands up to his face, framing her fingers along his jaw as she kisses him back, keeping him close. His hands cup at the backs of her thighs and lift, lift her up against the shelving. She shivers, tightening her thighs over his hips and letting him hold up her weight. There’s a strange sort of appeal in his being able to handle her so deftly, all hard muscle and gentle hands. 

“The first thing I did when you left the room was have two whiskies,” she says against his mouth, kissed breathless. “I mean, kids scare me into drinking, and – “

“Shhh,” he breathes against her skin, his knee resting underneath her thigh as he hitches her closer. “It’s all right, Jane – “

“We’re having sex feet away from sleeping children,” she moans even as he drags his mouth over the line of her throat, his lips moving over the peaks of her collarbones, near the neckline of her dress. “I’m not good at any of this – “

“Oh, no,” he says, voice nearly a growl. He raises his gaze to hers. “You’re very good at all of this.”

_Oh shit_ , she thinks for the fiftieth time before she tosses caution out of the window and brings his mouth back to hers, kissing him long and hard. She can’t escape the feeling that this is a last time, of some sorts; she wants to make it memorable. His hands push up her skirt and clever thick fingers slide under the waist of her tights, and oh, she’s halfway there already. 

He slides into her right there, her tights around her ankles and bite marks at her throat. One of her hands falls back to grip the edge of the shelf behind her; her heels press into the tight line of his spine, her shoes dangling from her toes and then falling with low thumps to the hardwood floor. Later, stretched out against the couch, his mouth is wet and insistent between her thighs, and she digs her fingers into his hair and holds on, sad and relieved and sharply content all at the same time. He kisses her once she’s come twice, the taste of herself tangy and sweet on his tongue. Her thighs curl around his hips instinctively, her fingers running down the line of his neck, the flat plane of his nose. 

“Oh shit,” she murmurs against his lips, because there is nothing left to say. 

He laughs, his hands smoothing through her hair. “You’re fantastic,” he says. They are all tangles of tights and legs and trousers and fingers, his hands finding hers. His mouth slides against hers over and over. 

“And very American,” she sighs, shifting against him. “What the hell are we doing?”

He rests his weight on his elbows, framing either side of her head. “Getting to know each other.”

“It’s incredibly complicated now,” she says, wrinkling her nose. 

“Because it wasn’t before?”

She tips her head back against the armrest, huffing. “Well, it’s not like you’re in love with me, and I – “

He leans in and kisses her before she can say another word, his eyes too wide and blue. “Don’t – “ he says, voice gruff.

_Oh god_. Jane swallows hard and shifts to sit up, her ankles trapped in her tights. Her lips are swollen, her throat red-roughed by his mouth, his beard. He sits back and watches silently as she rolls her tights up over her knees and thighs, under her skirt. 

“Maybe – maybe we should just leave it alone,” she says at last. Her eyes fix on her black flats where they lay near the bookshelves. “You have kids, and I’m only here for another week – “

“Yes,” he says, voice low. “After all, you did say you wouldn’t fall in love with me.”

“And you’re not in love with me either, so,” she says quickly, flushing. 

He doesn’t say anything, but when she rises for her shoes, he gets up too, and beats her to them. His fingers slide gently over her ankles as he kneels down, slides her shoes onto her feet. She touches her fingers to her mouth and feels a little nauseous, thinking of walking away from this house, this man. How could this have happened so fast?

“This isn’t the last,” he says when he rises. His hands rest on her shoulders, thumbs rubbing over the rise of her collarbones. 

Flushing, she leans up and kisses him one last time, stretching up on her tiptoes. “Okay,” she says softly. 

When he walks her to the front door, she can’t look him in the eye. There’s a strange tightness in her chest that she can’t explain away with logic or reason. He kisses her cheek and she walks to her car without looking back. She can feel him watching her from the doorway, between flakes of snow and stars and a cold wind.

The drive back to Peggy’s cottage is the longest of Jane’s life. 

*

“Well, it’s about time.”

Jane breathes out with a little smile, tucking the phone closer to her ear. The sun is bright against the snow-draped ground, as she and Chester stomp their way through the trails and woods around the cottage. They walk a lot, now; she finds it gets the aggression out more positively than throwing snowballs at the outdoor fencing. “You’ve been busy romancing, or so I’ve heard.”

Steve huffs; Jane can just picture him, blond and broad and all smiles and kind eyes; he’s been her oldest friend since grade school, knows her almost as well as Darcy or anyone else could. College kept them at a distance, her in science and him in art and graphic design; but after her father’s death, he came to the funeral and they ended up in an apartment together in between her masters and her Ph.D. Now, back in California, they live in the same neighborhood. She thinks she’ll be a good godmother to the kids he’ll have; Steve’s that kind of guy. 

“I like her, Jane. She’s different.”

“A firecracker, that’s what Darcy said,” Jane says, wrapping Chester’s leash more tightly around her wrist. 

“She’s charming and smart and more than just a firecracker – she’s brilliant,” he says, voice tinny yet sincere. 

Sighing, Jane kicks at a clump of ice. Her lips and nose are cold. “That’s great, Steve. But she’s leaving in a few days,” she says. 

“You’re a buzzkill, Foster,” he retorts. 

_Don’t I know it_ , she thinks, wrinkling her nose. It’s been three days since she’s seen Thor, and though he sent her a very nice bouquet of winter blooms that arrived on her doorstep yesterday morning, there’s been nothing else. She wants it this way – that’s what she keeps telling herself. Whether or not she’s lying to herself, that’s another story. 

“I’m glad you’re happy, Steve,” she says at last, as Chester noses into a snowdrift. “Aw, dude. Come on,” she mutters, thinking of the hardwood floors and the puddles bound to arise. 

“Peggy said you went over to the hot blond giant’s house.”

“She didn’t call him that!” Jane exclaims.

Steve laughs warmly; a pang of homesickness echoes within her. “No. She showed us a picture of him, and Darcy called him that.”

“Good grief,” she mutters. “And yes, I went over there.”

“How’d it go?”

Kicking at the snow once more, she stops and lets Chester sniff around a clump of bare trees, staring up into the semi-clouded sky. “Um – he’s got kids.”

“Whoops?” Steve says after a beat, clearly confused, and she rolls her eyes. 

“Kids aren’t my deal. At least, I didn’t think they were. These kids thought – these girls were great,” she says, wetting her lips. She feels the wind through her three layers now; she wants to go home, make tea with a heavy dose of whiskey, and try and figure herself out somehow. 

He whistles, low and soft through the phone. “Janey, it sounds like – “

“It’s been two weeks since Donald,” she cuts in, tugging on Chester’s leash. He goes happily, snow dusting his snout, and they turn back down the path, between trees long-stripped of their leaves and brush covered in snow. “And I’m not getting swept up by some attractive English guy with adorable kids who would probably hate me after a month. I have a job, and a life – “

“Can I say something, please?” he interjects, polite as always. 

Jane frowns, stomping through the snow. “Sure.”

“Maybe – just maybe – these things happen for a reason.”

She smiles slightly, shaking her head. “Steve, you’re crazy. I’m not uprooting my entire life for a guy I barely know.”

“I’m thinking of doing it for Peggy.”

She stops in the middle of the trail, Chester whining at the end of his leash. Blinking into the muted sunlight, she gapes into the phone for a moment. “What?”

“I can be a graphic designer anywhere. My enlistment period with the army is up, so I can move anywhere. And she’s – she’s the real deal, Jane. I think she’s it for me,” he says quietly. 

Swallowing hard, Jane starts walking once more. “Well. Bucky will be pissed.”

“Eh, he’s got Nat and a job with Stark – besides, he can come visit,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice. “This is an once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

“You’re a good guy, Steve. I wish I could be more like you,” she says with a sigh, rounding the corner towards the cottage. A black towncar, shiny and crisp in the afternoon light, idles outside the driveway. 

“You could be,” he wheedles. “You don’t think Stark has places for you in England?”

She laughs, a little distracted. “I don’t think so. And besides, I like California. Listen, I think James Bond is idling outside the cottage. I’ve got to go.”

“What?”

“Never mind. I’ll talk to you later,” she says before hanging up. She slips her phone into her jacket pocket and opens the gate to the front walk, peering at the car. The doors open to the driver and the front passenger side, and out steps a tall, pale, dark-haired gentleman and a woman in a full-length scarlet coat with fur trim, jet-black hair pulled back away from her angular face. They are a striking couple; Jane blinks as they walk right to her. 

“Hello,” she says, as Chester sits at her feet. 

The man takes his sunglasses off with a flick of his wrist. His eyes are sharp and green; there is something in the turn of his mouth and the cut of his jaw that rings familiar to her. “You must be Jane Foster, the astrophysicist.”

_Uh-oh_. “You’re not about to kidnap me for the Communists or something, are you? Because I know nothing, and the Cold War’s pretty much over,” she says quickly. 

The woman laughs, warm and amused. “Lord, no. He just likes to intimidate.” She holds out her slim gloved hand to Jane. “My name is Sif.”

“And I’m Loki. I’m Peggy’s cousin, and Thor’s brother,” Loki says, mouth curving into something resembling a smile. 

“Oh,” Jane says, flushing. “Sorry.” She shakes both of their hands quickly. 

“We were just over visiting with the kids, and they mentioned you,” Sif says lightly. “And Thor has no poker face whatsoever, so we thought we’d stop by, introduce ourselves.”

Ah. Jane tucks her hair behind her ears. “Would you like to come in for tea?”

Loki shakes his head in the negative, hands clasped lightly in front of him; black leather gloves on a black wool coat. A white shirt collar peeks out near his uncovered throat. He must be cold, right? Jane thinks as Chester sniffs at their feet. “We only wanted to introduce ourselves. I expect my brother will be by to invite you to our New Year’s gathering – “

“And we wanted to make ourselves known, to limit the awkwardness,” Sif finishes, her hand tucked into Loki’s elbow. 

Wetting her lips, Jane shifts her weight on her heels. “Well – I expect to be back in California by New Year’s, actually.”

“Unless Thor can convince you otherwise,” Sif says with a knowing smile, eyes dark and warm. 

“Did he say that?” Jane blurts out, squinting in the sunlight as it breaks through the clouds. 

Loki and Sif exchange a look, mouths turning down. “I believe what we inferred from our conversation is that he would like the chance,” Loki says at last. “You’ve made an impression.”

“In any case, we’d be happy to see you there. The more the merrier! The two of them can be all business sometimes, and that’s such a bore during parties,” Sif says with a laugh. 

They walk back to the car, waving. As the car peels away, Jane leans against the front gate and stares at Chester, wide-eyed. 

“What the hell is going on in my life, dude?” she asks. 

Chester sniffs and starts walking towards the front door. Time for lunch. Sighing, Jane pushes off the gate and hurries after him. 

*

_YOU ARE DUMB._

At this point, ensconced with wine and Peggy’s annotated Jane Austen collection (really solid collection of books, and wine, too – how perfect is this girl?), Jane is ignoring Darcy’s text messages, phone calls, and anything else that may pertain to the situation. She has three days left in her vacation; it’s Christmas Eve. She’s not rocking the boat. 

_YOU ARE DUMB DUMB DUMB._

Jane shoves her phone under the couch cushion and takes a long swallow of wine. It’s dark as soot outside, with no stars; the clouds lay thick over the countryside. Even Chester seems to have given up; he lays stretched out by the hearth, limbs outstretched and eyes shut. 

“I am not dumb,” she tells the dog, who could clearly care less. “This is too complicated to be any sort of casual rebound thing.”

Her phone buzzes; she can feel the vibration through the cushions. Mouth drawn sourly, she smacks her hand on the cushion and leans her head against the armrest, eyes skimming over facts and illustrations from Emma. Time ticks by, and the evening closes in past ten; she’s a bottle of wine and two sleeves of crackers in when she finally decides her phone has been quiet enough, and it can come out of her imposed time-out. 

There are six text messages from Darcy, all saying DUMB in various ways. There are two from Steve, which, while kinder, say pretty much the same thing. There’s a photo message from Bucky with a picture of all of them in Los Angeles – Steve, Peggy, Darcy, Fandral, and Natasha – and a caption saying _Merry Christmas_ , which she immediately saves to her phone. And there’s a text from Tony Stark, which she finds most interesting.

_Merry Christmas, Foster. If I see you before the new year, I’ll be pissed. Tap that._

Jane rolls her eyes and puts her phone aside once more. Flushed from the heat of the dying fire, from the heat in her cheeks, from the thought of Thor and those she misses at home, she settles back against the couch cushions and sips the last of her pinot grigio. 

“I am not dumb,” she says, with fading certainty. 

Abruptly, Chester curls up and springs to his feet, yelping happily. He pads to the door, nails clacking on the hardwood floor, and sits. His tail wags back and forth swiftly. Jane sits up just as the knock on the door occurs, echoing in the quiet house. 

When she opens the door, her heart in her throat, Thor is waiting, bundled up and hair loose around his jaw. His gaze brightens as he meets her eyes. 

“Hi,” he says, holding up a basket of wine, cheese, and crackers. “Happy Christmas.”

The grin that takes over her face is unstoppable. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him hard, tasting the smile and the snow from his mouth. His arms come up around her, basket and all, and they stumble into the cottage, Chester running circles around their feet. 

_“Jane_ ,” he breathes against her mouth, his hands broad and wide against the curve of her back, her hip. 

Eventually, she remembers to shut the front door. 

*

“If you curse again – “

“Oh _man_ ,” Jane says, sliding her fingers through his hair and gripping tightly. “Oh god- “

She can feel him smile against the skin of her inner thigh. His beard scrapes there as his mouth moves, and oh – _oh_ – “That’s more like it,” he murmurs, hands curved around her thighs. 

“This is not _good_ , Thor,” she gasps as he licks along the crease of her hip. “Kids and my job and your job – “

Thor buries his face between her thighs, his tongue light on her clit, and she can’t help the moan that curls out of her, low and slow. She burrows back against the bedspread and pillows, the cuffs of her sweater catching at his hair. The words on her tongue die and she is reduced to pants and moans, arching her hips into his mouth for the friction she needs. Two thick fingers curl inside of her and she’s gone, wound up too high from the living room floor and the staircase and _oh god the poor dog_ – 

Thor sucks on her clit lightly, his teeth just grazing the sensitive skin. She can hear the sounds of it, wet and deep and dark, and she wants it all the time, wants it day and night – she’d quit her job for this, she thinks dazedly. She really would. His hand strokes her thigh down to her kneecap, callused fingers eliciting goosebumps all over, and she can hear her name on his lips inbetween the wet pops of skin against slick skin. Her heels drag against his ribs as she searches for traction, for friction. Nails scrape along his scalp and she pushes her head back into the pillows, eyes slammed shut. The heat coils and unsprings within her, too hard and too sharp to mute. 

When she opens her eyes, breathless and sweat-damp, his mouth is at her hipbone, his hands tracing soothing curlicues along the curve of her thighs. His lips trail over her belly, pushing up her sweater. Their clothes are still half-on, she thinks absently, her fingers dragging softly and slowly through his hair. 

“What should we do?” she asks when his ear is close enough, as she curls around him. 

He kisses the line of her throat, her jaw. She digs her fingers into his shoulders, his thick wool sweater softening the cut of muscle and bone. His hips fall naturally between her thighs and they just fit, fit and curl against each other. The fall of his hair against her skin is soft, light on her chest and throat. 

“I like what we’re doing right here,” he murmurs, the words a low rumble in his chest. 

She swats at his back, tempering down the giggles bubbling in her throat. “That’s all well and good, but I’m leaving in three days, and this is – way past complicated,” she says quietly. 

He looks at her for a moment before sighing greatly and rolling to his side. His arms catch around her waist and bring her with him, nestled together in the middle of the bed. She can hear Chester downstairs, padding around on the wood floors and snuffling. 

“I have an idea,” he says.

She tips her head back. “Okay.”

“Stay longer. Stay for New Year’s. My brother’s having his annual party, and – “

“What would me staying longer make any difference towards?” she asks quietly. Her fingers slide and twist in the loose fall of his hair. 

His fingers slide under her sweater to the bare groove of her spine. “You could spend time with me, and the girls. My family.”

“To what end, Thor?” she asks, exasperated. “I mean, this doesn’t make any sense – “

“I know it doesn’t,” he says, serious and quiet. The tone of his voice startles her into silence. “It doesn’t make any sense, but I like it. I like everything about this, and you – Jane, I love you.”

Now, now, she is stunned into muteness. Her eyes widen and she can’t look away from him, even with the flush rising on her cheeks. Her hands freeze against his chest. _Holy shit_.

“I do,” he says, firm and fierce. “You are brilliant and smart and charming and beautiful, and you are exactly the person I want to see every morning and night and hour inbetween, and you are who I want to help me raise a family. I love you, and I think you love me too. And I think you should stay until New Year’s, so I can prove it to you.”

It’s too much; his gaze, his hands on her, the closeness of his mouth, the echo of his words in her ear. She sits up and puts her hands to her cheeks, shutting her eyes. The bed shifts with his weight as he sits up as well. He doesn’t touch her; not yet. Maybe he knows her better than she thinks. 

“I’ve had it once before,” he says after a moment, very quiet. “I loved my wife, but – Jane, it’s nothing to what I feel for you. It’s completely singular. I don’t want to watch you walk out of my life, not without giving it a shot.”

Smoothing her fingertips over her eyes and temples, she finally looks over at him. Her hair falls in heavy sections over her shoulders and face. 

His gaze is serious and set, mouth a warm line. The tension thrums off of his skin in waves. “You should stay, at least through New Year’s. I believe you would enjoy it.”

She curls her hands around her knees, biting the inside of her lip. “I – I don’t know,” she says haltingly. 

He nods, inching across the bed over to her. “I understand,” he says. Now he touches her, strokes his hand over her hair, covering her hand with his on her knee. “I’m just asking you to think about it.”

A laugh huffs out of her. “I am thinking about. That’s the problem.”

His lips linger at her temple. “I thought you came all the way here to stop thinking.”

“I basically have,” she says, turning her head towards his. The gaze that meets hers is too heavy, too blue, too warm; she feels the flush rise on her bare throat. “Oh, shit,” she mutters. 

Thor leans in and kisses her, his mouth cool and light. She shuts her eyes just for a moment, breathing in the woodsy scent against his skin, all man. 

“No pressure whatsoever,” he says against her lips. His hands slide over her spine to the dip of her waist, pushing her back against the bed. “Just – Jane – “

And she wraps her arms around his neck and holds on, as if he will disappear. His _I love you_ rattles in her brain and she cups the nape of his neck in her fingers and lets him stretch his palms over her ribs and hipbones, lets his fingers slide between her still-damp thighs and spread them, so he fits just as well as he has ever single time. His mouth is easy at the line of her jaw, the curling edges of his hair soft against her skin, and she thinks she could get used to this. 

That’s the thought that has her up in the middle of the night, pacing in the living room with Chester as he sleeps. 

*

Christmas morning, once she returns to bed resolved and a little desperate, begins with Thor’s mouth on her neck.

Jane wakes with a start, her sleep fitful. There is a hand on her belly and she feels his stubble, a scratch and a tickle against the thin skin of her throat. She thinks she can smell snow, as she sits up abruptly. The sun is high and bright against the white meadows and trees. 

“You’re twitchy today,” he murmurs, trying to coax her back down. 

Jane presses her hands into her eyes, shaking her head. “I just – where are the girls?” she asks after a moment. 

“At my parents’. They always spend Christmas Eve with them. I go and join them in the morning,” he says, sitting up with her. His hair is light in the morning sun, ruffled about his jaw and face. “Why?”

“I just – I didn’t want you to pick me over them,” she murmurs, brushing the hair from her face. After a moment’s pause, she reaches out to tuck a loose piece of gold hair behind his ear. 

He grins, and it’s infectious; the feeling spreads in her bones and through her belly and up. “You could come with me.”

Jesus. “Come with you where?”

“To Christmas dinner, at my family’s home.”

“That’s not a good idea,” she says even as she slips her fingertips along the even planes of his jaw. 

“Says who?” he teases, leaning into kiss her. 

She shuts her eyes and smoothes her thumbs along the ridge of his cheekbones, kissing him lightly before she tips her head back and meets his befuddled gaze. “What will you tell your parents? That you found me stranded on the side of the road?” she asks, smiling a little sadly. 

Shrugging, he weaves his fingers through the loose tangles of her hair. “I’d reckon something to say.”

“No,” she murmurs, leaning into his touch. “You go. I’ve got Chester.”

He kisses her once more, mouth lingering. “You should come over tonight, though. My brother and his wife will come by for drinks and such, once the kids are asleep.”

This, she agrees to. Reluctantly, he leaves bed, striding to the bathroom in his bare skin. She feels the warmth rise on the back of her neck, and she lays back down in bed, shutting her eyes. Her decision sits heavily on her shoulders, in the pit of her stomach. 

Downstairs, Chester barks, a plea for the leash and the wonders of fresh snow. She doesn’t ignore him. 

*

Thor’s house is warm and lit all over, a fire crackling in the hearth of the living room. Jane sits near the heavily-decorated Christmas tree, sipping at her wine and peering from ornament to ornament. There are handprints and awkwardly-shaped snowmen cut out from construction paper, the names of his girls scrawled across them in glitter and marker. She can hear Thor and Sif laughing in the kitchen, as they fix a plate of desserts sent home with Thor from his parents. 

She’s too comfortable. It makes the choice sitting on her tongue both easy and too hard. 

“You are a quiet one, Miss Foster.”

Jane tilts her head up, meeting Loki’s gaze evenly. “I could say the same for you,” she says, a little coolly. 

Loki holds up his palms as if in defense. “I mean no offense.”

“I’m not plotting after your brother, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” she says dryly, rising to her feet and stepping closer to the twinkling tree. 

“No. We’ve checked you out,” he says, suddenly serious. 

That catches her off-guard. She turns and stares, neck hot under the collar of her cardigan. “Excuse me?”

Green eyes narrow, Loki shrugs, tugging on the sleeves of his sleek sweater, cut right to the lines of his shoulders. “My family has a business to protect. I had to be certain of you.”

“I have no idea _what_ your family does, you know,” she says, bristling. “Also, I’m a motherfucking astrophysicist – I don’t need a man to support me in any way shape or form.”

Lips twitching, he raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly on the subject.”

“Let’s just say it comes up every once in a while,” she says tartly, her fingers tightening on the stem of her glass. For every time her father encouraged her in her dreams, there was always someone waiting to tell her to give up, to let it go, to just find a husband and be happy with it. 

“Never with my dear brother, I would assume.”

She sighs, fixing her attention back on the tree. “No. Never with him.”

They are quiet for a moment, the sounds of the fire and muted plates and clinking from the kitchen filling the space between. Jane runs a hand through her hair, mouth twisting as she glances at Loki. 

“What does your family do?” she asks, reluctantly. 

“Research and development in military technology for the government,” he replies evenly. Her eyes widen, and he smirks a little. “You can see why I needed to check.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay,” she murmurs. “Still, I have a great job. Why would I leave it?”

“With Stark Technologies,” he says. “You shouldn’t.”

“Thanks for the advice,” she says flatly. There’s something about his manner that rubs her the wrong way, but perhaps he’s just awkward, and protective; Sif seems to be nice enough for the both of them. 

“I only say so because my brother is in love with you,” Loki says, casually as anything; she chokes on her wine, staring wide-eyed. “And you’ll never find a job like Stark’s here in the United Kingdom.”

“Again, thanks for the unsolicited advice,” she says, a little more prickly now. She keeps her voice low, thinking of the sleeping girls just a floor away. “Did he tell you to say something to me?”

Loki smiles; it’s something between genuine and mocking. She can’t tell if he has any other facial expressions other than that. “He would never. But I know my brother.”

She opens her mouth to press further, but Thor and Sif come back into the room, all smiles and laughter, and she refrains, keeping her words to herself. Sif swats at Loki’s shoulder, glaring at him as she sets down her plate of cookies. “You’ve done something.”

“I haven’t,” he says, his hand going to the sharp jut of her hip. She is all angles and sleek lines, even in comfortable jeans and a sweater. There would be something of envy in Jane, if she didn’t have Thor’s hand on the small of her back, finding the small strip of bare skin between her jeans and her sweater hem. 

“Making nice, brother?” Thor asks, tone light, and edged with something Jane can’t place. 

“We were talking about work,” Loki says pointedly, as Sif leans into his arm. 

Jane looks up at Thor, mouth curved crookedly. “He spilled the beans about the family business,” she drawls. 

Thor’s lips twitch, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ah. Well, I’m not in it. So, I suppose it’s their business, not mine,” he says with a shrug. 

“I imagine the sky looks quite different here than in California, Jane,” Sif interjects, smiling lightly. Her hair shines dark in the firelight, loose around her angled jaw tonight. 

Sipping her wine, Jane nods. “It does, yes. Longitude and latitude make the difference. It’s all there, only in different spots. It’s very interesting. I’ve spent a night or two diagramming it during my stay,” she says. 

“When Thor isn’t keeping you busy,” Sif teases slyly. 

Jane blushes but laughs, shrugging. “It’s all I can do to get away,” she says, voice winking and hinting. 

Sif is all laughs, and even Loki cracks a smile. Thor’s hand flexes against the small of her back. “All right, all right,” he says good-naturedly. 

Jane wets her lips and sets her wine glass down on the side table, looking up at Thor. “Speaking of skies, could we – “

“Of course,” he says, nodding at the other couple. Sif and Loki settle on the couch and watch with interest as Jane leads Thor out of the living room and through the front hall. The front porch is cleared off from snow, the air crisp and sharp against her bared throat as she steps outside. 

“I’m sorry about him,” Thor says as he shuts the door behind them, tucking his hands in his jeans pockets. 

“It’s fine, really,” she says, wrapping her arms around herself. “He’s watching out for you.”

“He doesn’t have to,” he mutters. 

She smiles, watching him in the soft yellow of the porch light. The choice weighs on her, but really, what is her alternative? 

“What?” he asks, smiling. He comes to her, standing right in front of her and leaning in. The tips of their shoes touch, his body so close to skimming hers. “What?”

Uncurling her arms, she wraps them around his shoulders and perches herself on her tip-toes, just reaching his mouth with hers. His arms come around to help anchor her. 

“I can’t stay,” she whispers against his lips. 

His mouth stills near hers, his eyes unmoving from hers. 

She blinks, heart thumping too hard and fast in her chest. She feels sharp-breathed, short of air. “I can’t. I _can’t_. I’ve thought about it, and I – I can’t,” she says, voice too soft to be known even to herself. 

Hands at her waist, he looks at her for a long, horrible, silent moment. She feels all the blood turn cold in her veins, a sharp aching sense of longing in her middle. The sensation won’t leave her soon, she thinks. 

“Thor?” she says after a pause, her hands resting flat on his chest. 

“Okay,” he says quietly, gaze sad. “Okay.”

“It – it isn’t you,” she stammers, tongue thick in her mouth. 

“I know,” he says with a weak smile. “Jane, I know.”

Her fingers curl in the collar of his shirt, the starched fabric smooth against the pads of her fingers. There are no words on the tip of her tongue; she is at a loss, again. 

Finally, he leans down and kisses her, soft and easy and sweet. “You did promise you wouldn’t fall in love with me,” he says quietly. “It was a long-shot at best.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she says, kissing him fiercely. She bites at his bottom lip, licks into his mouth, tries to kiss him the way he speaks to her, the way she feels, even if she can’t put it into words. There is a part of her that wants to stay, to throw caution to the wind and just see what happens – but there is a larger part full of reason, of sense, of logic. She needs logic in her life now, not corniness or love. 

He pulls her in, holds her against his chest and picks her up off her feet. His mouth sinks against hers, opens and breathes into hers; she can’t catch her breath. She never can, with him. 

“So we have tonight,” he murmurs against her lips. 

“You have your brother – your girls are in there. I can’t stay,” she whispers. “I think – I think it’s better this way.”

His broad hands feel their way up and down her spine, warm through her sweater, the layers of shirts and skin. “You think too much,” is all he says before he kisses her once more, and brings her back into the house. 

Hours later, once Loki and Sif have left, he stretches her out on the sofa, his mouth all over her skin. Her nails bite into his shoulders and all she wants is to leave reminders, pieces, scars; she wants the story of the thick ribboned scar along the right side of his ribs, the burn at his throat, the scar on his collarbone. He whispers against her belly and bites at the soft crease of her inner thigh; she maps the ridges and arcs of his muscles, the cord of his hips, the feel of his dick heavy and hot in her palm. It’s an hour of remembrance, of goodbye; the forced quiet makes it all the more painful, sharp and sweet. 

Jane drives away in the wee hours of the morning, the taste of him still on her tongue, the imprint of his lips on her skin. She has his phone number, his email; it doesn’t feel like enough. 

It doesn’t feel like enough when she packs her suitcase; when she cleans the cottage, washes the sheets and blankets; when she says goodbye to Chester, who whines and curls up on the sofa as she shuts the door behind her. Jane boards the plane at Heathrow Airport, and doesn’t look back; but she feels empty, right in her gut. 

She found something here, and now it’s left behind in pieces she’ll never be able to put together again.

*

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to come out with us?” Darcy wheedles, lying flat on her stomach across Jane’s bed. California sunlight streaks in across the buttery hardwood floors, catching the red in her dark hair, a mess of curls down her back. 

Jane smiles slightly, slipping the last of her cool-weather sweaters onto its rightful hanger. Three days back, and she’s still unpacking. Darcy says it’s because she didn’t want to leave in the first place, but Jane ignore her. 

“I am, yes. Thanks, though. You and Fandral and Bucky and Natasha have fun. It sounds like a good party Stark’s throwing,” she says lightly, turning into her closet. 

Darcy huffs. Jane can hear her shifting on the bed. “You’re not going to sit here and wail into a bottle of pinot grigio, are you?”

“No, and I don’t wail,” Jane says, rolling her eyes on habit. “I have some paperwork to catch up on, and then I’m watching movies and ordering Chinese food.”

“That does sound fun,” Darcy drawls, all sarcasm. “And what would you be doing in jolly old England?”

“I imagine whatever Steve is doing,” she says, glancing at Darcy over her shoulder. “Come on. Don’t be mean.”

Sitting up, Darcy pushes her hair from her face with a sigh. “Someone has to be mean. You’re crazy.”

“You don’t fall in love with a man in a week and five days,” Jane retorts. “I did the right thing.”

Shrugging, Darcy kicks her bare feet in the air, fixing the straps of her sundress as they slip over her shoulders. “I think you _think_ you did the right thing,” she says plaintively. 

“I’m done talking about this, okay?” Jane says wearily, shutting her closet. It’s been three days of whys and whats and you’re dumbs, and she’s tired. She lays awake at night and thinks of how large the bed seems without Thor, of Victoria in her arms asking about stars, of the way he looked at her when he said he said he loved her, and she can’t sleep over it. She’s exhausted the possibilities, and she still feels in the right. 

It doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

“Okay, okay,” Darcy says, throwing up her hands. “No more.”

Hours later, the sky is navy-dark, stars peeking out with a twinkle and a wink. Jane sits on her back porch, feet tucked up underneath her, missing a dog and snow and a life an entire world away. Steve is there now, with Peggy; they left together the day after Jane returned, giving her just enough time to meet Peggy face to face and really see how happy the two of them seemed together before they were off. She hopes Thor and Loki like Steve; she knows Victoria and Astrid will. 

“Doing the right thing sucks sometimes,” she murmurs to herself. It’s a habit she didn’t realize she had picked up, from Chester’s constant presence over two weeks. Maybe Darcy’s right about the dog idea.

Jane plucks at her loose cottons sleeves, sighing as she tips her head back to look up, past the trees swaying with the breeze and into the certainties of the skies. The pool water laps against the walls in the distance, the birds singing softly; it’s a winter of a different sort, with cool breezes and layers of cotton and linen instead of down and wool. She misses the taste of snow on her tongue. 

The doorbell chimes, sounding as if at a distance. She cranes her neck and sighs, unfolding herself from her chair. Padding in bare feet across cool hardwood floor, she runs her fingers through her mussed hair and smoothes down her t-shirt as she heads for the front door. The neighborhood is quiet; most of her neighbors go out for the holiday, to welcome the new year. She likes the privacy. 

When she opens the front door, she nearly falls down in shock. 

“JANE!” Victoria and Astrid exclaim, each attached to their father by a hand. They each hold a little suitcase in their other hand, and are smiling too widely for words. 

Jane blinks and stares at Thor. He watches her steadily, a slight smile curving his mouth. 

“What – um – hi?” she blurts out at last. 

“We heard you had a pool – “ Victoria begins. 

“And Disney!” Astrid says with a toothy smile. 

“She means Disney World,” Victoria corrects gently. 

“We wanted to see your house! You saw ours,” Astrid exclaims. 

Thor drops their hands and takes a step towards her, eyes very dark and set upon her. “I’m sorry about the surprise.”

“It’s – it’s fine,” she breathes, shaking her head. “Why don’t you come inside, and – I have hot chocolate?”

Victoria and Astrid cheer, and hurry past Jane into the house. She can hear them pattering from room to room, oohing and aaahing. Wetting her lips, she turns her attention back to Thor as he steps inside. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks quietly, shutting the door behind her. She leans against it, her knees weak. 

Thor sets his duffel bag down, running a broad hand through his hair. He looks just as good here in California, all muscle and blond hair, as he did in sweaters and snow. “I’ve thought about this – and the thing is that I still love you.”

Jane lets out a heavy breath, the tips of her fingers tingling. Her pulse is racing hard against her wrists and throat, leaving her light-headed. “Thor – “

“Here’s the thing, Jane,” he says quietly, yet firmly. “I can work wherever. I can move here. Or we can split the time. The girls are young enough that the change wouldn’t be too severe. My parents are happy to visit, and I’ll pay for us to go visit them. But my girls can’t stop talking about you, and I can’t – I can’t escape you. I don’t _want_ to escape you.”

The flush is heavy on her skin, her cheeks; she flattens her palms against the cool of the door behind her, pressing in for solidity. 

Thor takes a step towards her. “For right now, we’re on holiday here. And, if you’d have us – the whole package deal – we’d like to spend as much time with you as we can. I hope we can begin from here,” he says, voice very low. 

All the tension slips from the pit of her stomach. Jane pushes off of the door and walks towards him in three steps. “You came to California,” she murmurs, shaking her head. 

He smiles, a little crookedly. “I reckoned I had a date for New Year’s.”

It’s all instinct that lets her rise up on her toes and kiss him, catching his bottom lip against hers. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in and up, his mouth opening over hers. It’s all she’s missed for days, for her whole life, really; her fingers dig into his loose hair, into his scalp, and she holds on, eyes closed, rushing ahead. He smells like the woods, and a little bit like stale airplane; she can’t help but laugh into his mouth.

“Okay,” she breathes, her throat tight and her eyes nearly wet. “But I – I ordered food, and it’s not enough, and I was only going to watch movies – “

“Oy, girls!” he hollers over his shoulder, keeping her gaze. “Take-away and movies sound good to you?”

A chorus of _yes!!!!_ greets her, as well as a _DAD THERE IS A POOL!_. Jane laughs and shakes her head, her hands cupping his face. “Okay then,” she says, and kisses him again right there in the foyer. 

Later, with the girls drowsing on either side of them as they sit in the living room, sprawled out on the couch with _You Got Mail_ flickering on the television screen, Jane lifts her head from Thor’s shoulder. They’ve settled that he and the girls will stay here with her; she has enough room _and_ a pool. Tomorrow, a tour; the next day, Disneyland. 

For now, Jane reaches up and tucks his hair behind his ear. He turns his head, meeting her gaze.

“I love you too,” she says at last, voice soft.

His grin could light up universes, and its focus is her. He leans in and kisses her, eyes open. 

“Promises, promises,” he breathes, and she laughs against his mouth, content.

*

_That next Christmas…_

Jane wakes up with the smell of snow in the air, and says so, sitting up with a stretch and a smile.

“That’s not a real thing, you know,” her husband mumbles from his side of their bed. Well, not their bed; their bed is in California, near the beach and the sea and a pool. This bed is in the guest room of his parents’ very large Surrey house. Down the hall, his daughters sleep peacefully, waiting to be woken with hot chocolate and presents. 

“I have one romantic notion in my life, and it’s snow. Let me keep it,” she retorts, smacking Thor’s shoulder. 

He grabs her wrist without opening his eyes, pulling her back down into the cocoon of blankets and his arms. His hair falls across his brow, golden on the stark black pillowcase. “You are a secret romantic, Jane. Do not try to deny now,” he murmurs, eyes open to slits as he leans into kiss her. 

Grinning, Jane kisses him once, twice, three times before her ears prick up and she pauses, her mouth inches from his. “The girls are up,” she whispers, straightening her mussed pajamas. She learned very early on in their relationship not to sleep completely naked; not when there are children in the same house who sometimes have nightmares in the middle of the night. 

Thor groans and stretches, nearly too big for the bed. Down the hall, she can hear the pitter-patter of feet. “They’re trying to be quiet,” she says with a smile, smoothing his hair away from his face. 

“And failing,” he grunts, catching her hand in his. Their wedding bands, slim, simple, silver, clink against each other softly. 

“I just hope they don’t wake Peggy and Steve,” she says, curling up to his shoulder as he comes to rest against the headboard. 

“Didn’t you say Steve could sleep through anything?” he teases.

Shrugging, she leans up to kiss him lightly. “Still.”

They wait together in the early-morning quiet of an English Christmas for the girls to tiptoe in. Jane has given up trying to figure out how it all puzzled together at last; what she knows now is that her home in California is now _theirs_ , and she was never so sure of anything as when she said yes to Thor’s proposal. The rest of it doesn’t matter; she has a family now in a way she never did before, with all the strange pieces like Darcy and Steve fitting in easily. 

The only thing more satisfying is her work; it’s a close call, even so. 

“I love you,” Thor murmurs against her hair as their bedroom door creaks open. Two small heads, one dark and one blonde, pop in through the crack, all sleepy excited smiles. 

Jane smiles, and takes his hand in hers, found and steady. 

*


End file.
